


mapping the curve of your lips and the smell of your skin

by cresswell



Series: soulmates [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Finn is uncharacteristically evil, Legilimency, Octavia and Raven are devious and scheming, Pining, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smothers a laugh into her hand just like he knew she would, and he works very hard on schooling his expression into one of annoyance and boredom. But she's there next to him and she's laughing, small sounds slipping out between her fingers, and it's so very hard for him to resist turning to her and laughing with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mapping the curve of your lips and the smell of your skin

**Author's Note:**

> oh god. this ended up SO much longer than i had intended it to be, but this is such a fun world to have them in. as in all my fics, bellamy pines and clarke is clever. clarke might be a little ooc but i wanted them to have that love/hate thing going on. also i apologize because i wrote most of this in the middle of the night and i feel like it's just a big bundle of impossibilities but hey, a girl can dream right?

Clarke Griffin was the absolute bane of his existence.

Rivalries like theirs were rare, but not unheard of. She was the princess of red and gold, and there were even rumors that she descended from Godric Gryffindor himself.

"Gryffindor, Griffin," Octavia had explained to him one day, shrugging as she buttered her toast. "It's not impossible."

Clarke Griffin was perfect without even trying, and Bellamy, someone who had to push himself simply to meet expectations, resented her for it. She was privileged, placed on a pedestal for her kindness and fearlessness- associating the words with her at all made him gag, but it's what all his friends were saying about her, their eyes wide with admiration. It made him sick.

* * *

"Earth to Bellamy," she says, tapping his forehead with the tip of her wand. He jerks back, eyes flashing, and snatches his things away from her. "Don't do that."

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you would listen." She sets her things down next to him, a satisfied smile on her face as her hands primly work her wild hair into an elaborate braid. Catching the look on his face, she gives a mock-gasp. "Careful, or all your friends will think you're trying to use an Unforgivable on me."

"Can't say it hasn't crossed my mind." He hates that she's here, next to him, her flower-scented perfume invading his space. Professor Sydney was making them work together for an Astronomy project. He thinks it's brutally unfair, how she's making him work with _Clarke Griffin,_ while all his friends get to work with each other. His scowl deepens.

"Doesn't that hurt your face?" Clarke asks conversationally, lazily drawing designs in the air with her wand. "If you make that face enough times, your muscles will stick."

"Let's hope I'll be so lucky," he retorts, crossing his arms on his textbook and burying his face in them. She hums quietly beside him and he wonders idly how many weeks of detention he'd get for setting her hair on fire.

"Six weeks, give or take a few," Clarke whispers close to his ear, and he looks up, surprised. She fights a smile, turning to face Professor Sydney as she begins giving them the instructions for their project. Bellamy's head throbs.

 

Raven's silky ponytail swishes back and forth in front of him while she walks, like a pendulum, and Bellamy's tired eyes ache with the repetitive, incessant movement. His Quidditch gear is heavy on him and his forehead is damp with sweat. It's not even hot outside.

"Relax, big brother," Octavia says to him, bouncing around like a ball of energy. It's her first year trying out for the team and it's all she's been able to talk about since she got her first broom her second year. "You made it last year. You're obviously going to make it this year, too."

He grunts in response. He doesn't eat breakfast on most days, but Raven, the captain, had needled him until he ate some bacon and eggs. He's regretting it now, feeling the way they roll around in his otherwise empty stomach. It's weird; he's never nervous about Quidditch. It's one of the few areas where he takes pride in his work.

Raven sizes them all up when they arrive at the Quidditch pitch. It's too damn early for a Saturday, but it's Raven, and she does what she wants. "Some of you look like you'd be valuable for the team," she begins, haughty, with her chin jutted out slightly. "Others, not so much."

Bellamy rolls his eyes. She'd given the same speech last year when she had been given the position as captain. He thinks it gave her a power complex.

He tunes back in. Raven is marching back and forth in front of them like a dictator. "You'll go one by one, as usual. Don't try to show off. It tends to have the opposite affect."

Bellamy smirks to himself. Leave it to Raven to knock them down a few pegs during the speech that's supposed to fire them up. He watches glumly as the newcomers- including Octavia- scramble to wait at the sidelines, worming their way in front of each other as if that will guarantee them an earlier time. Raven picks randomly. He considers telling them this, but then decides he's far too comfortable in his spot in the sun to move.

He watches with a detached interest as person by person is called up, some so awful he has to look away because of the secondhand embarrassment. Octavia, of course, flies like a pro; Bellamy's been teaching her to fly since she could walk, and it shows. He knows without a doubt that she'll make the team, and the thought makes him smile.

"Well, what do you know. He _does_ have a heart."

Bellamy jerks his head around so fast he thinks he contracts mild whiplash. Scowling, he glares at Clarke Griffin. "Don't comment on things you know nothing about."

She's sitting a few rows behind him on the rickety bleachers on the ground, a massive book by a Muggle author open on her lap. She matches his smirk, and the expression looks so out of place on her face that Bellamy feels his eyes widen. "Oh, but I _do_ know about you," she says earnestly, eyes wide and mouth stretched into a mocking grin. She throws her head back, the back of her hand pressed dramatically to her forehead. "Sweet Merlin, is the legendary Bellamy Blake talking to _me?_ I must have taken some Felix Felicis by mistake-"

"Fuck off, Griffin," Bellamy snarls, standing and turning away before she can see the way his face is burning.

"Such language," Clarke scolds, her voice still holding that mocking tone. He's not looking at her but he can hear the poorly concealed laughter quivering in her voice, and it makes something in him snap. "That's hardly the way to speak to a lady-"

He whirls on his heel and leans forward until he grabs her by the front of her robes, yanking until their faces are mere inches apart. "Don't think that just because you're a girl I won't hex you into the next century," he grounds out, his teeth clenched.

"Oh, how _noble_ of you," she says, deadpan and sarcastic, and it just makes Bellamy all the more angry when she starts to grin again. "Try it, Bellamy. I dare you. I dare you to try and curse a single hair on my head."

He shoves her back roughly, finally getting some satisfaction when she falls off her bench with a squeak. "Why should I?" He asks, contempt dripping off of every word. "You're not even worth my time."

He can feel her eyes on his back as he goes to stand next to Raven, waiting for his name to be called. Clarke's gaze is hurt and surprised, and it singes his skin like the aftereffects of a poorly-brewed potion.

* * *

She sends him a Howler like the prick she is instead of simply finding him at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He nearly dunks it in Octavia's coffee, but she stops him, laughing. "No, don't. I want to hear it."

"Fine, you listen to it then-"

"Bell," she whines, tugging on his sleeve like she's four, not fourteen. "It doesn't work if you don't open it; you know that."

"The things I do for you," he grounds out, tearing the envelope open and pretending it's Clarke's head. "You owe me, alright?"

As soon as it's open he thrusts it onto the tabletop, not that it does much good- it's sizzling in the air a moment later. He plugs his ears in preparation.

_BELLAMY, AS MUCH AS IT PAINS ME TO SAY THIS, WE NEED TO START WORKING ON OUR ASTRONOMY PROJECT BEFORE PROFESSOR SYDNEY MAKES US SCRUB HER FLOORS FOR A WEEK. MEET ME AT THE ASTRONOMY TOWER BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND ONE-THIRTY TONIGHT AND BRING YOUR SUPPLIES. ALSO BRING SOME SNACKS IF YOU WANT ME TO BE HOSPITABLE. SEE YOU TONIGHT. XOXO CLARKE._

By the time her Howler is spent, everyone at the Gryffindor table is either wolf-whistling or clapping. Raven and Octavia are positively losing it beside him, laughing so hard it sounds like they're struggling to breathe. Bellamy glares down the Gryffindor table, craning his neck to scan each face with his eyes until he finds the one he's searching for.

Clarke's sitting on the tabletop like the queen she thinks she is, her long legs crossed and swinging lazily like she hasn't got a care in the world. The people around her are all looking up at her with sheer admiration, like she hangs the goddamn moon, and it makes Bellamy's blood boil. She smirks when she catches his eye, giving him a little wave and taking a bite of her apple.

"That girl," Bellamy all but growls, his fists clenching at his sides, "should be Transfigured into an anchor and thrown off the side of a bridge-"

"Now, now," Raven says with mock seriousness, her grin betraying her tone. "Clarke's not so bad. She's got one hell of a sense of humor. Not to mention she's at the top of our class, so you should be thrilled to work on a project with her." Raven eyes him over the rim of her teacup. "You're always asking me and Miller to write your reports, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Bellamy snaps, sitting back down and glaring at his untouched bowl of oatmeal. "Clarke Griffin's all butterflies and rainbows and perfection, I get it. It's not the first time I've heard it."

Octavia raises her eyebrows at Raven, and the two have a silent conversation across him. Feeling his cheeks burn, he glares at them both. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Octavia says, all nonchalant, and Raven snorts.

 

Bellamy debates actually going to the astronomy tower that night until the last possible second, and even then, he only goes because Octavia threatens to eat all his Chocolate Frogs if he doesn't. He'd really just like to skip it and make Clarke do it all on her own, but he knows that the guilt would inevitably overcome him. Even though he doesn't like her.

"You're late" is the only greeting she gives him when he steps over the final stair onto the small balcony. She's fiddling with her telescope already, a girlish quilt spread out under her. It's strange to see her out of her school clothes: she's in loose, soft pants and a pale green sweater with sleeves that slip over her hands. She spares only a single glance at him before turning back to the knobs on her telescope. "You're probably thinking I could use a spell to make them auto-adjust," she says, her voice distant as she focuses. "But that's no fun."

Bellamy doesn't bother saying anything, because she's distracted with her telescope and he doesn't really want to talk to her anyway. He sets his own telescope with a wave of his wand, catching Clarke giving him a look. It's not a glare, like he would have expected; she's just curious and maybe a little surprised. He doesn't go out of his way to use magic outside of a classroom.

"So, I know we haven't discussed what we're going to do yet," Clarke says abruptly, turning away to dig around in her book bag, "but I went ahead and got supplies. I was thinking we could basically just recreate the solar system and the stars around it-" She breaks off, frowning at the surprised look on his face. "Have you even looked at the assignment guidelines yet?"

"Honestly? No," Bellamy admits, only a little sheepish. Clarke's face doesn't change and he suddenly feels the need to explain himself. "I- I figured it would just be a really simple project, you know, one that doesn't require much time or effort."

Clarke stares at him a moment longer, incredulous, before shaking her head. "Oh, Bellamy. So naive." He can hear her grin as she goes back to digging in her book bag, and it makes him scowl. "Anyway, as I was saying. I went ahead and got a poster board and paint and stuff. When we're done painting it, we can charm the planets to spin and the stars to twinkle." She pulls out a massive poster board, one that should not have fit in her bag, and Bellamy is quietly impressed at the amount of charms she can obviously perform with ease. After that, she dumps out a vast array of paint tubes and brushes. When she's done, she sets her hands down in her lap, and he notices they fidget and twist around each other. "Well? What do you think?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, sure. Doesn't really matter to me. You should know, though, that I'm shit when it comes to painting."

Clarke smiles, setting the tubes upright so the paint flows to the bottom. "I worried about that. It's okay. If you're truly terrible, I know a charm that can transfer my painting skill to you for a limited amount of time." 

"Of course you do," Bellamy mutters, loud enough for her to hear him, but she pretends she doesn't.

They work in a mostly quiet way, with Clarke on her hands and knees over the poster board and Bellamy at his telescope, listing off the planets. She's skeptical of his knowledge, which he guesses is fair, and so she's constantly getting up and brushing her hands off on her pants to peer through her own telescope. He watches her work for most of the time, feeling bad that he's not doing more, but she had waved him away, saying she wanted to get the project started and that he could paint the next night. He doesn't think she had meant it in a rude or condescending way; just that she wanted to show him the art style so that he could mimic it. He's more than okay with that.

"So, what, then," he says, now lying on his back beneath his telescope, watching as the sun begins to peek out in the corner of his vision. "I'm supposed to change my whole sleep schedule for you?"

She laughs quietly, still semi-detatched and distant while she works. "If you must. I have no doubt that people will be curious as to what we're doing all night, and I'm sure you won't set the records straight."

He props up on his elbows to stare at her incredulously, an eyebrow raised. She looks mortified for a moment, her cheeks flaring red, before her hands begin to move over the poster board again. "Sorry," she says awkwardly before laughing again, the sound stiff and tense. "I hear things. About you, I mean."

"Is that so," he replies, flat, like he doesn't care. But he doesn't lower himself back to the roof and he doesn't let his eyes stray too far from her. "Well, go on, then," he says after a beat, nudging her foot with his. "You can't just leave me hanging like that, Griffin."

He knows he's being a little cruel, but he also knows that he thinks she deserves it. He watches her become a little flustered, the heel of her palm slipping in wet paint. She swears quietly, moving her thumb to carefully smooth over her mistake. After a period of silence that's long enough to make Bellamy huff with impatience, she raises her eyebrows, but still doesn't look at him. "Well, surely you must know. Everyone knows."

"Do they?" He keeps his voice light and unimpressed, but there's an uncomfortable warmth spreading in his stomach. Shame.

Clarke nods, trying to blow hair out of her face. It doesn't work. "I'm friends with Raven," she says dryly, like that explains everything. It kind of does, actually. "So yeah, I hear rumors now and again."

Bellamy just hums, the feeling in his stomach intensifying. She won't even _talk_ about what she's heard. Does that mean it's really bad? Does that means she's bluffing? What does it mean? Why does he _care?_

He looks at her again when he hears the lids on the paint tubes snapping shut. "Going so soon?"

She throws him a smile, but it's tired and stiff. "We've been out here all night."

"Promise me you'll let me do some of the work tomorrow night, okay?"

She rolls her eyes, but her smile softens and relaxes. "Yeah, okay. Just try to get some sleep before then."

* * *

In Astronomy the next day, Clarke hardly looks at him. She still sits next to him and does all her work, but it's like he's not even there.

Bellamy's surprised to find that it creates a sour feeling in his chest, and he can't categorize it as embarrassment or anger. Not like he expected them to be best friends all of a sudden, but surely last night hadn't been that bad, right?

Raven bounces over, looking well-rested, and Bellamy seethes with jealousy. She gives him a smile and a wave but hops up to sit on the table's edge near Clarke, waiting patiently for the other girl to finish her line in her book before speaking. "Hey, Griffin. You didn't show up for our studying last night."

Clarke blinks, looking momentarily confused before suddenly looking horrified. "Merlin, I forgot! I'm so sorry, Raven. I just fell asleep doing my homework."

Raven's eyes flicker to Bellamy, who is studiously trying to look like he's not listening or paying attention at all. She knows, of course, that Clarke's lying- she had sent him a bloody _Howler_ , hadn't she? The whole school knows where she had been the night before, and it sure as hell wasn't in bed.

But Raven only hesitates for a moment before nodding sympathetically at Clarke. "Not to worry, it happens to the best of us." She ruffles Clarke's already wild hair, earning a squeal of protest before returning to her desk with Octavia.

As soon as she's out of earshot, Bellamy's pulling Clarke's book down with his forefinger. "What the hell was that?"

Clarke looks ashamed for a moment before her features smooth back out into a haughty, confident smile. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Before he can reply and call her out on her lie, she's standing and shoving her papers into her bag. "The class is about to be dismissed," she says, surprising Bellamy, who had been wondering where she was going but hadn't asked.

 

When she meets him that night around one in the morning, he's already squinting through his telescope. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks have a pale pink tint to them, her entire face glazed over with a dreamy, breathless haze. "Sorry," she says immediately, sinking to the roof next to him. "Here. Your turn."

He tries to match her painting style, the way her brushstrokes look against each other, but it's difficult and slow-going. He decides to just leave the planets to her, instead painting the stars in the black backdrop, his hands too large and clumsy for such delicate art. After a huff of frustration, she still hasn't spoken to him again. When he turns to check on her he sees she's laying splayed on her back, a wide, reckless grin on her face. "Care to share?"

She startles, like she's forgotten he's there. "What?"

He juts his chin at her, arching an eyebrow. "Did you get into some Amortentia or something?"

 _"No,"_ she snaps, a scowl replacing her pretty grin, but her cheeks redden. "It's none of your business."

Bellamy waits a few beats before deciding it's okay for him to be mad at her. "You wanna tell me why in Astronomy today you acted like you were in your room all last night? Because you sent me a Howler, so pretty much everyone knows you weren't."

She turns onto her side, her sweatshirt slipping up to show a slice of her back and the curve of her waist. "Sorry about that," she says, her voice sounding distant because of the slight wind. "I just think it's better if we keep our... acquaintanceship just between the two of us."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. He sits back, trying to comprehend what she's saying. It makes him feel worse about himself than it really should. "You ashamed of me, Princess?"

"Bellamy," she says, sounding exasperated, and rolls onto her other side so that now she faces him. "Of course not. But you and I both have reputations to uphold, don't we? We're supposed to strongly dislike each other. It keeps things interesting."

There's a joking note in her tone but Bellamy recognizes that she's serious. He shrugs it off, giving her his best cocky grin instead. "Sure, Princess. Whatever you say."

"I want to be your friend," she says, all in one big rush, and when he turns to look at her with raised eyebrows, she holds his gaze. Her eyes are wide. "I liked hanging out with you last night. So I want to keep doing it, but in secret. Is that..." she trails off, suddenly uncertain. "Is that okay with you?"

He looks at her for a moment, like he's mulling it over. But the truth is that it's not even a question. He knew his answer right away. "Of course, Clarke. But only if you help me with this goddamn art-"

She breaks into a laugh, the sound light and soft, watching in amusement as he messily shakes paint off his hands. She wipes the skin clean with cloths she seemed to have summoned from thin air, and watching her carefully correct his mistakes, Bellamy can't help but smile.

* * *

It's fun. Like, it's _really_ fun, pretending to hate Clarke all the time.

He still dislikes her, obviously. But he doesn't hate her anymore, and they've almost made a game of sorts out of pretending to despise each other. Howlers. Stupid hexes that wear off after a few minutes. Making a big scene by yelling at each other in the common room. And then once everyone's gone to bed, they sneak up to the Astronomy tower, laughing quietly and ducking into shadows whenever someone they know passes by.

"What was that one spell you used today?"

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," Clarke replies, her voice dry. She's still painting, having appointed Bellamy in charge of the essay.

He rolls onto his back, careful not to kick her or the poster. "In the common room today."

"Oh." She laughs, turning her head to grin at him. "Did you like that one? It was the Tickling Hex."

"No, I very much did not like it," he replies, but now he's laughing too. He can't help it when he's with her. It's like the sound of her laughter is contagious. "Watch out, Griffin, or I'll get you tomorrow with a Densaugeo."

"You wouldn't," she gasps, mock-horrified, before turning back to the poster. After a few moments, she speaks again, but her voice is soft and she doesn't look at him. "I think we're past surnames now, aren't we?"

Bellamy doesn't know what to say to that. He shifts onto his stomach, finding where he left off in the textbook while he tries to figure out what to say. "Um. I don't know."

There's a horrible silence then, an awkward one, with Bellamy tapping a nervous pattern on his parchment with his quill, leaving puddles of black ink. Clarke coughs once, leaning over and reaching to get her bag, but her sleeve catches on the tube of yellow paint and it spills. "Shit!"

"It's okay," Bellamy says quickly, relieved that the silence was broken and that he actually knows the spell he can use to clean up the paint. He does so, putting it all back in the tube and shutting the cap. "See? No damage done."

But when he looks at her, her eyes are filling with tears, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Octavia cries all the time about everything, but she usually just likes to be left alone when she does it. Now, though, Clarke is leaned close to him, a small sound like a whimper coming from her throat.

"Hey hey hey," Bellamy says, trying to keep his voice soft and soothing. He doesn't reach out to touch her, not wanting to push any boundaries that might exist. "It's just some paint, and nothing was-"

"It's not about the stupid paint, Bellamy!" She says hotly, pushing away from him, suddenly hostile. "Don't be thick."

"Hey! I was only trying to help-"

"Well, _don't!"_ Her voice rises in volume and pitch and Bellamy's worried she'll wake people and then their whole charade will be blown. "I don't want your help!"

"Clarke, stop, and breathe."

"I said I don't want-"

"That wasn't me trying to help," he snaps, trying to keep his temper and volume under control. "That was me telling you what to do."

She glares at him for a long moment, but it seems to do the trick: she sinks back to the rooftop, curling into herself and pressing her face into her knees. He's not sure how long her lets her sit there, alone and shuddering, but soon he finds himself crawling over to her and leaning against the railing. Hesitantly, he places a hand on her shoulder. She jumps but doesn't jerk away, so he stays like that with her until the sun rolls up.

* * *

Clarke is late to Astronomy the next day. Bellamy purposely avoids looking at her while she settles herself into her seat next to him, but when Professor Sydney starts droning on about zodiacs and compatibility, he pulls out a scratch of parchment and writes: _OK?_

He passes it to her, and if anyone were to look over at them then, they would think that he was just readjusting his supplies on his desk. She takes the scrap with hesitant fingers and he feels her gaze on him for a moment too long before she looks away.

A second later, the edge of the parchment brushes his elbow. _OK. Sorry about last night._

 _Don't be,_ he writes. _ ~~If you need anything~~  We've all been there._

He can see her smile in his peripheral vision, almost physically feel it, and he feels a small sense of pride. _He_ made her smile after being so clearly distraught. A small blossom of warmth blooms inside him.

She passes it back. _Even you?_

_Of course. Even gods need a good cry every now and then._

She smothers a laugh into her hand just like he knew she would, and he works very hard on schooling his expression into one of annoyance and boredom. But she's there next to him and she's laughing, small sounds slipping out between her fingers, and it's so very hard for him to resist turning to her and laughing with her.

The atmosphere in the room changes suddenly, and it takes him a minute to realize that the reason for it is Professor Sydney's stopped talking. Quickly, he turns to look at her, but she's looking directly at them, eyes narrowed.

Under their table, he digs his palm into Clarke's thigh, trying desperately to get her to understand. But she's still laughing, and the contact just makes her jump and make a small squeal that would be adorable under any other circumstances. "Bellamy!" She says, and luckily she's keeping her voice low enough for only the two of them to hear. "What are you-"

Professor Sydney clears her throat. Immediately Clarke looks up, her eyes widening in horror and embarrassment. She slides her chair sideways a tiny fraction, but it's enough that Bellamy's hand falls from her leg and their shared body heat disappears.

He tries not to think about any disappointment he feels.

"Something to share with the class, Ms. Griffin?"

Clarke shakes her head wildly, her mouth clamped shut. "No, Professor."

"Is that so," the professor replies, her voice dry, and with a wave of her wand, their scrap of communication is fluttering through the air and into her hand, despite Clarke's protests. She's gone so tense next to him, so clearly distraught that it worries Bellamy, and he takes her hand carefully with his own. He can feel her surprise, but neither of them look at each other when she squeezes his hand gratefully.

After a moment, the professor, clearly disappointed, tosses the note into the bin with a last glance at them. "I apologize, Ms. Griffin and Mr. Blake. I assumed the worst."

She goes back to her lesson like she never broke off, and Clarke risks a look at Bellamy, so evidently confused. He drops his quill and leans over, an excuse to get his mouth close to her ear so he can breathe out "I charmed it to be blank."

She's still looking at him when he straightens back up and after a moment of ignoring her gaze, he gives in and turns to face her as well. She looks surprised that he thought of it or maybe surprised that he was kind enough to go so far to protect their acquaintanceship at her request, and under regular circumstances, he might be a little offended. But she is still holding onto his hand and she squeezes it again when she says "thank you", her voice soft, and he doesn't know how to do anything but squeeze her hand back before letting go, the warmth leaving his palm.

* * *

Clarke blows in like a storm cloud that night, banging up the stairs and letting her bag whack against the railing. She stops when she sees him waiting, as if she forgot where she'd been going, but after a moment she turns and starts stomping back down the way she came.

Bellamy's up and after her a second later, his telescope forgotten. "Clarke, wait-"

"No," she says, her voice not mean so much as hard, and motions to him with a wave of her hand. "You come with."

He does, because at this point he'd follow her without having been told to do so, and mutters a _lumos_ because she hadn't thought to. "Where are we going?"

"The Whomping Willow." Clarke's voice is detached and blank; Bellamy wonders briefly if she's been crying again, and if she has, why.

"We won't make it out of the castle, Clarke-" he tries, but she mutters a swear word before digging around in her bag. She pulls out a glittering pale mass of fabric, and it takes Bellamy a moment to comprehend what he's seeing "An invisibility cloak? You've got one?"

"Yes," she says, and swings it up and around so it drapes over them both. The air between them feels suddenly intimate, maybe because they have to stand so close in order for both of them to be concealed, or maybe because the way the cloak falls around Clarke is the way bedsheets would- Bellamy doesn't know. But she holds his gaze for a moment too long before turning on her heel, giving him a faceful of sweet-smelling hair. "Come on. Stay close to me."

He lets his hand drift into hers, and even though she doesn't react besides giving a sharp intake of breath, he feels comforted.

"Why the Whomping Willow, Clarke?" He breathes into her ear while they step carefully down stairs, trying to minimize the sound their shoes make on the stone. "Why not the dungeons, or the common room, or-"

"Stop," she whispers, digging her elbow into his stomach a little. She's still holding his hand. "I just want to be there tonight."

He wants to ask her what happened, but he's never seen her quite so detached before, and he's afraid that she'll shatter apart if he pushes too hard. He knows she's so strong, practically indestructible, but he would never hold any of her tears against her. Now, she's not even crying; she just has a blank, empty look like the one Octavia wore for years after their mother died. So he follows her in silence.

Their breath fogs in the chill outside, not contained under the cloak, and she pulls it off impatiently when they're far enough away from the castle. In the dark, no one would see them from any of the windows. He slows his pace, clinging to her hand like a little boy until she gets impatient with him too and pulls it from his grasp. "Clarke-"

"No," she says, and there's some fire back. Even though it's directed at him, he's relieved to hear it nonetheless. "We're having fun. Aren't we?"

He doesn't know what to say. The Willow almost seems as though it's asleep, hardly moving except for minor shifts and twitches. He stays back, watching with a growing sense of dread as she approaches the tree. She looks so small, head tilted defiantly to stare up at the giant, and then out of nowhere, a jet of red shoots out of her wand and hits the trunk with a sizzling snap.

Instantly, Bellamy's moving forward. "Clarke!"

But she just sends jet after jet of light until the tree seems to shake itself from its slumber, shaking its limbs indignantly. "Come on," She seethes, and the silence around her is so stiff that Bellamy grabs at her sleeve, trying to pull her back. She shakes him off and then, to his horror, sprints into the mass of leaves.

"No!" he shouts after her, but she rips her sleeve from his grasp and throws her body forward. By some luck or grace of god, she manages to fling her arms around a branch, and miraculously, her legs follow. Bellamy watches with his heart in his throat as this girl, this fucking tiny angry teenage _girl_ manages to cling onto a sentient tree and _stay_ on. 

It doesn't last. Of course it doesn't. One moment she's fine, her knuckles white against the bark, and then she is in the air, getting flung into the tangle of branches. Her body flops around them like a ragdoll, and it's like Bellamy's mind completely shuts off except for  _Clarke is hurt_ and _Clarke's bloody_ and _Clarke's not moving_.

She's crying when he reaches her, the tears flowing freely, leaving pink streaks where they mix with the blood from a cut on her cheek. His hands hover just above her, afraid to make contact because he doesn't know where she's hurt. But then she chokes out a sob and he cradles her head in his lap, wiping the blood on her face away with his thumb.

"Tell me," he says, shocked to find out that his voice comes out choked as well. "Tell me where you're hurt."

"Wrist," she says faintly, and he can see, now, that her hand is bent at an unnatural angle. "Ribs. Thigh."

He'd been hoping she somehow wouldn't notice the piece of wood sunken into her thigh, but she has, and he doesn't know what to do. He can feel himself launching into panic mode; this is Clarke's area, not his. "I can't- I don't know-"

"Your wand," she says, gasping in pain at something. "Need- set my wrist."

"I can't, Clarke. I'm no good with spells-"

 _"Please,"_ she chokes out, eyes pleading, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a heartbeat before grabbing his wand in shaky fingers.

"It won't be good," he warns, and she grabs his hand so tightly he feels his fingers tingle. _"Brackium Emendo."_

She lets out a small cry as her wrist pops back into place, the bone sewing itself back together. She uses her newly-mended hand to push her sweaty hair out of her face, propping up slightly on her elbow. "Okay. Now ribs."

Bellamy pales. "Clarke-"

 _"Bellamy,_ " she growls with equal force. "Do it."

He does. She lets out an awful wail, her face screwed up in pain, and lurches forward, panting. He wraps his arm around her back, her shoulder digging uncomfortably into his sternum, but he doesn't care. "Okay. Okay. Now what?"

"I don't know," she cries, her voice breaking with frustration. "I don't know a spell for- for that," she says, nodding at the bloody piece of wood protruding from her leg. "You're going to have to take me to the hospital wing."

He feels himself shake his head, her hair tickling his chin. "You'll get in trouble."

"Blood loss," she grounds out, teeth gritted in pain, and that's all it takes, really.

* * *

 Bellamy's footsteps echo off the stone walls as he approaches the hospital wings. The morning light filtering through the windows is the only light in the room, and he can see dust particles dancing in the air, the light making Clarke's hair gleam. She sees him in the doorway and sits up, her hair a mess around her face. "You can come in," she says. "Mom just stepped into her office for a moment."

"Your mom's the mediwitch here?" Bellamy asks, surprised, and sits down in the chair by her bedside. He remembers falling asleep in it the night before.

Clarke nods, looking embarrassed. "Yeah. It's not a big deal. She wanted to work somewhere she could be the head mediwitch, and here she's the only one, so it's kind of perfect for her." She stretches like a cat, her arms pushing back behind her head and her spine arching beautifully. "You didn't have to come back. Mom said you were here last night."

Bellamy nods. He had helped her limp into the castle the night before until she passed out, and then he had carried her. "Your mom didn't want to let me stay, but I was insistent."

Clarke half-smiles. "Always a bother, you." 

In the silence that follows, Bellamy decides he needs to do something with his hands or he'll start fretting, so he grabs his book bag. "I brought you some of those Muggle books you like so much.

Her eyes widen, her face looking so young in the pale light. "How did you know about that?"

Bellamy rubs his neck in a half-guilty way. "Octavia said they were at the top of your trunk."

Clarke buries her face in her hands, groaning. It makes Bellamy's chest feel all warm and he sets the books in question on the small table beside her bed, next to her invisibility cloak and her wand. "Do- do you want to talk about-"

"There's something I need to tell you," she says at the same time, and they look at each other for a moment before laughing, leaving the air a little thick with tension. "About last night. That's what you were going to ask about."

Bellamy nods. How does she always _do_ that, know what's on his mind? Sometimes she voices the answer to a thought before he even realizes he thought it.

Clarke nods, smoothing her hands over the blanket on her legs. She looks like she's steeling herself for a battle or for a duel. "It wasn't fair of me to drag you out there with me. I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry, Bellamy."

All apologies, especially unwarranted ones, make him uncomfortable. He just shrugs, his hand itching to take hers. "It's alright. I chose to go."

This time when she nods, he thinks he sees some color rise up to her cheeks. "It's hard to figure out where to begin the story, because there's not a definitive moment I can pinpoint as the beginning, but I'll try." She takes his hand, twisting onto her side so she can face him, her side curved like an archway so she can still be propped up. "Over the summer I met a boy. We're a pureblood family, so we're in the habit of mingling with other pureblood families." She rolls her eyes. "I hate it. Anyway, one of my father's old coworkers was the head of the Collins family; do you know them?" When Bellamy nods, she continues. "They have this son, Finn. I've known him since I was little, but we've never spent much time together or been friends or anything, you know? But this summer, with my father gone, my mother made me spend a lot of time with other kids so I wouldn't spend all day moping in my room. And... I got to know Finn."

Bellamy tears his gaze away, part of him not wanting to listen to the rest of the story. He puts his focus on a loose thread on her blanket, picking at it with his fingers when she begins to speak again: "He was the first boy I ever really got to know. I fell in love with him in the way teenage girls do, and I... I was foolish."

"You're not foolish," Bellamy interjects automatically.

"Hush," she chastises him, but she's smiling. "I was foolish because I was not the only one he was seeing at the time."

It takes Bellamy a moment to process what she's saying, but when he does, he feels his anger flare up. "That bastard-"

She squeezes on his hand, a sad smile on her face. "The other girl and I, we didn't know about each other. Not until I found them together. It shouldn't have been so surprising, but it was. I broke things off with him. So did she." She tucks her wild hair behind one ear, and now she seems to lose her confidence, her eyes going to her lap. "But... when this school year started, I got back together with him."

Bellamy lets go of her hand, as though burned, and then instantly feels bad for it. She reaches out for him again, her eyes wide and pleading. "Bellamy, please. Try to understand. I was in love with Finn, and when he told me he wanted me back, I wasn't strong enough to tell him no."

Suddenly, he remembers the way she'd show up on the Astronomy tower with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. There's a stab in his chest and he swallows, clenching his jaw. "Do I want to hear the rest of this, Griffin?"

She looks like he's slapped her. He hasn't called her by her surname in weeks, and now that he has, he feels horrendously guilty. But he stays silent.

"Yes, you do," she says, her voice small. "You think you don't want to hear it, but you do. You're curious." She meets his gaze. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He can't.

"That's what I thought," she says, turning her head back away from him. "So we were together again, in secret like some torrid affair, until he got jealous. He doesn't like you, you know," she adds, nudging his knee with her hand. "Says you're an arrogant asshole. I can't say I disagree."

There's a teasing note in her voice, but also immense fondness, and Bellamy doesn't even know how to decipher the feelings going on in his stomach. He presses his face into the edge of the mattress, not trusting his face to not betray him. With a jolt of surprise, he feels her hand, light as a feather, begin to stroke his hair. "He thinks I'm in love with you."

Her voice is horribly casual and Bellamy's whole body tenses, not trusting himself to look up at this point. "Are you?" He feels like a little boy with his voice all muffled, but he's scared of what she'll say.

"Very nearly," she says, and Bellamy thinks he might choke on his breath. She's pulling him up by his shoulders, half onto the bed, and she locks her arms around his neck. He hugs her back, letting out a shaky breath against her neck, and inhales the sweet smell of her skin and her hair. "I'm crazy about you, anyway, and if it's not love now then it soon will be."

He nods against her cheek, letting her disentangle herself so she can continue with her story. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright, like when she'd come to the tower after seeing Finn. "I- I think he figured it out, and he was upset. He said it wasn't fair for me to do that to him, and that's when I broke things off for good, because that's so hypocritical from him." She looks distant, like she's looking at him but not _seeing_ him. "That was yesterday. When I came to the tower, all I was thinking was that I should've been angry. But I wasn't." She looks down, her eyebrows knitting. "I wasn't feeling anything."

"Which is why you went to the Willow," Bellamy guesses, proven right when she nods. "You wanted to feel something."

"A few nights before when I got upset when the paint spilled, that was because he was mad at me. About you." Now she seems like she's purposefully not looking at him, and the thought of Clarke not wanting to see him makes something constrict in his chest. "I felt so awful because I liked him but I liked you too, and I felt like such a shit person-"

"You're not," he says gently, taking her hands in his. "Look at me, okay? You're not a bad person. Screw him for making him feel like you are. He has no right."

She nods, wiping a hand over her eyes hastily. "I'm not crying," she says fiercely, sounding like a small child. "I'm not-"

"Sure, Princess," Bellamy says, his laugh soft and gentle, watching as she glances up at him and lets a blush and a smile filter across her face.

* * *

Clarke is kept in the hospital wing a few more days- "they think I'm at risk of hurting myself," she tells him one day, rolling her eyes- and Bellamy stops by every chance he gets to see her. After the first day, his professors begin taking points from Gryffindor because of his skipping classes, and Clarke makes him promise not to skip out to see her. ("It's a Muggle thing," Clarke says, twisting her pinkie around his. "See? The thought is that to break the promise, I'd have to break my pinkie, too.")

Soon enough their first Hogsmeade trip of the year rolls around, and Bellamy is up before any of the other Gryffindors to help Clarke get ready. She's allowed to go, which she is endlessly excited about, and Bellamy picks her up from the hospital wing and helps carry her things back to the common room.

"I appreciate all your help," she tells him as the portrait swings open, "but I'm fine on my own, honestly."

"I know you are, but I just like to help." Bellamy finds himself rubbing the back of his neck, like he's flustered, which is not word he associated with Clarke until she talked to him in the hospital wing. She had made him promise that what she'd said- _"very nearly"_ \- wouldn't change anything, and he had promised. (But of _course_ it changed things. It changed _everything_.)

He's worried that she thinks he doesn't return her feelings simply because he didn't tell her so, but he hadn't said much of anything that day, because he'd been trying to let her get everything off her chest. And anyway, he doesn't even know how he feels about Clarke, because just a few weeks ago he was trying to convince himself he didn't like her, wasn't he? It feels like a lifetime ago and everything inside Bellamy feels uncomfortably knotted but pleasantly warm and he realizes with a sinking feeling that he's turning into one of the heroines from Clarke's Muggle romance novels.

"Earth to Bellamy," Clarke says, her mouth quirking upwards. "We need to make a game plan."

Bellamy blinks, feeling slow and stupid. "Game plan?"

"Well, we're both going to Hogsmeade, aren't we? We need to plan some sort of dramatic fight or something." She rolls her eyes. "You know, our usual stuff. People have kind of started to notice that you spent all your time in the hospital wing. We need to set the records straight."

"Are you..." his voice sounds hesitant and weak even to his own ears, but there's a raw ache in his chest now. "You want to keep that up?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I just thought..." Now he's blushing, he realizes with horror, and quickly looks away. "I just thought that after what- what you said that you might not want to."

She looks at him blankly. "I wouldn't want to ruin things for you, though."

 _Ruin things?_ "Right," he says, forcing a smile and nodding. "Yeah."

 

He's definitely _not_ watching Clarke out of the corner of his eye where she walks with Raven and Miller, her head thrown back in laughter. Her hair fans out under a beanie, and her jacket is deep green with patches on the shoulders. She looks so relaxed and unwound and it makes something tug hard in the pit of his stomach, and he wants so badly to walk over to her and just-

"Bell?"

He snaps his gaze back to Octavia. She's wearing a beanie of her own and he wonders for a moment if they all went shopping together at one point. "Sorry. What?"

"What're you looking at?" She cranes her neck to try and see, but he quickly sidles in front of her and blocks her view. "Hey!"

"Don't be nosy, O."

"It's hardly nosy," she grumbles. Bellamy watches in horror as her face unfurls into a grin a moment later. "Clarke?"

_"No-"_

"Hey, Clarke!" His baby sister waves her arms, her cheeks pink with the cold and excitement. Clarke waves back, turning back to Raven and Miller for a moment before trekking over to them.

"Hey," she says, her breath a cold cloud in front of her face, and her eyes linger on Bellamy a beat too long. "What's up? You guys wanna get something to eat?"

Octavia chatters all the way to the Three Broomsticks, almost skipping between them, one arm linked through Bellamy's and the other through Clarke's. He's studiously not looking at her, and if he's being honest, it's only partly because of their plan. Part of him thinks it hurts to look at her.

It's warm in the Three Broomsticks, and Bellamy definitely does not watch as Clarke pulls off her beanie and shakes her hair out. He trails behind them as they get to a table, uncomfortably aware of all the stares they're getting- the Princess and the boy who hates her- but if Clarke notices, she doesn't pay any attention.

Octavia tries to order a butterbeer but Bellamy shuts that down quickly. It makes Clarke laugh, a hand pressed over her mouth, and a warm flush encompasses his whole body. He feels like he's tingling, and when his thigh brushes hers, he subtly scoots his chair away.

"So," Octavia says, stirring her coffee, "how's the Astronomy assignment coming? Bellamy's always talking about it."

Clarke and Bellamy glance each other, her bluegreen eyes confused, and Bellamy forces himself to roll his eyes and smirk. "Always _complaining_ , more like."

He can practically feel Clarke's hurt radiating off her in waves, but she clenches her fists in her lap and smiles at Octavia. "It's finished, actually." She must be able to sense Bellamy's surprised gaze on her, because she adds, "I completed it in the medical wing."

Octavia's face softens, and it makes her look so much like their mother. "I'd been meaning to talk to you about that-" She breaks off, frowning, and Bellamy follows her gaze. Clarke has gone stiff and tense next to him, eyes wide and almost terrified, and Octavia twists in her seat to see whatever Clarke is seeing. "Clarke? What's wrong?"

"What?" Clarke's voice is distant and shaky, her face pale, but she seems to snap back into her body a moment later. "Oh. I'm sorry, it's- it's nothing." She takes a sip from her teacup but her hands are shaking so badly that the tea sloshes over the side and she sets it back onto the saucer with a hard _clack_. "What were you saying, Octavia?"

But Octavia's still twisted around and so Bellamy brings himself closer to Clarke, one hand settling lightly on the back of her chair. "What?" He asks softly, making her hold his gaze. "What is it?"

His question is answered before he even closes his mouth. There's the sounds of footfalls and Clarke shrinks back visibly, pressing herself against one of the dusty windows and away from the boy approaching. He's their age, and Bellamy knows he's seen him before- chin-length dark hair, sharp jaw, and narrowed eyes. "'Lo, Clarke."

His voice is pleasant enough, but Bellamy can sense the hard tone underneath, and the boy's jaw clenches when he looks at him. "Sorry; who are you?"

"Finn Collins," the boy answers smoothly, his smile so obviously forced it destroys his mask of friendliness. "Good friend of Clarke's. And you're the Blakes, correct?"

"In the flesh," Octavia says, smiling. She's so blissfully unaware of who this boy is and what he's done, and Bellamy feels the urge to protect both the girls from this boy (not that they need it; they could take down an army without his help). Octavia motions to the chair next to her. "Any friend of Clarke's is a friend of ours. Please, do sit down."

"Actually," Bellamy says, his voice a little too loud, judging by the startled look Octavia is giving him. "We're a little busy at the moment. Clarke and I are working on a school project, so if you don't mind-"

"School project," Finn snorts. His tone is still light and pleasant, but Bellamy can feel the tension rising rapidly. "You know, that facade is only going to work for so long. What are the two of you going to do when your project is due, and neither of you have an excuse to sneak out to see each other anymore?" Finn sighs in an overly-dramatic way, cutting his eyes to Clarke. "Such a pity, really."

"Finn," Clarke says, her voice shaking in a way that cuts Bellamy. "Don't do this."

Octavia's eyes are narrowed, darting between the three of them. She can tell when she's unaware of something, and Bellamy knows that soon enough she'll have enough pieces to put the full picture together. He grips Clarke's hand underneath the table and she kicks her ankle across his in response, tying herself to him like he's an anchor. This time, her voice does not shake: "Finn, if you'd like to talk to me about something, I'll come find you later, but right now isn't really-"

"You've done all your talking," Finn cuts her off, curling his fingers around the back of the empty chair next to Octavia. "I, however, have not. I just wanted to make sure everyone knows who their darling princess really is." He raises his voice at the last part, and the restaurant, which is full of Hogwarts students, seems to hush and strain their ears to listen. 

"Clarke Griffin and I became... intimately acquainted over the summer," he begins, a cruel smile on his mouth, and the whole room seems to titter. "We separated for a brief time, but rekindled our relationship shortly after arriving back at Hogwarts." He's settled behind Clarke's chair now, running his fingers through her hair, and she is looking straight ahead, her jaw clenched tight. "Well, more accurately, she seduced me."

He gives that a moment to take its effect and then continues. "Who can blame me, though, right? I mean, just _look_ at her. So feisty. It carries over into bed, let me tell you."

People are laughing then, laughing at Clarke, and a small sound of pain comes out of her mouth. She drops her gaze to her lap, wrapping her other hand around Bellamy's as well. When Finn begins to speak again, she flinches. "I wish I could've kept her around just for that, but I don't tolerate infidelity."

At this, people begin to whisper at each other, shooting disgusted looks at Clarke. Octavia's mouth is pressed into a thin line, her knuckles going white where they're wrapped around her spoon. Bellamy, for once not giving a damn about all the people looking at them, moves his chair close enough and envelopes her hands in his own. He nearly presses his mouth to her ear, their thighs and shoulders pressed together, and she leans almost subconsciously into him. "Clarke, don't listen. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He's not worth-"

"Ah, yes," Finn interrupts, throwing his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. "The man in question."

The murmured whispers turn into full-blown conversations, every set of eyes on them. Their cover is blown, he knows, and he watches Clarke squeeze her eyes shut like she's trying to Apparate away. "Clarke, you're okay, and he's wrong, and everything's going to be-"

"Don't bother," Finn says from too close behind them. Clarke lurches forward and away, her abdomen pressing painfully against the table edge. Finn's tone is at a normal level now, aimed so only they can hear him, and Bellamy sees spots of color. "Don't waste your time on her. She'll only use you until she gets bored, and then she'll drop you like the little slut she is-"

Bellamy sees red.

There's a smack and a pain shooting up his arm but he can't tell what's going on because of all the red. He can hear Octavia shouting- "Bell!"- and there are hands on his forearms, making him stumble backwards. He knocks into other people as his vision finally begins to come back into focus, shocked faces turned towards his and Clarke's face pressed into his chest. He must hesitate, because she shoves him harder, her voice muffled but still sharp against the fabric of his shirt. " _Move_ , Bellamy!"

He lets her push him out of the Three Broomsticks, the din disappearing behind the closed doors. She pushes him a little further down the street before stopping, letting herself sag against the window of Honeyduke's. "You idiot," she spits out, and then she is crying.

He tries to reach for her, but when he does, he sees the smear of red on his hand. She pushes his arms away, glaring at him despite her tears, and huffs angrily. "What were you thinking? Why would you do that?"

He's about to ask _do what?_ but then he puts it together: the pain shooting up his arm, the blood on his hand, Clarke's anger. He punched Finn. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel as guilty as he thought he would. "I figured I should do it before Octavia did."

Clarke scoffs, but at least she's not glaring anymore, so Bellamy takes it as a win. "You Blakes are so stubborn."

"I don't know if stubborn's the word for it," he says lightly, watching the way her eyelashes stick together with tears and her hair gleams in the sunlight. "I'd say we're brave. Like someone else I know."

She looks up at him then, and she doesn't look sad or angry or scared; she just looks strong, and it's the best look he's seen on her so far. He watches her eyes move to his lips like he's in a daze, her lips pink and slightly parted, her pulse leaping against the skin of her throat. When she kisses him she leans up on her tiptoes, her body pressing against his for balance, and he winds his arms around her hips. They fit so perfectly together that he has to wonder how he ever felt whole before doing this- before kissing her. She kisses like she speaks: with fire and intensity, but her soft sweetness is still present beneath the burn. Her hands are small and warm against the back of his neck, and she is clinging to him like she will drown if she doesn't, and he has never been this enamored with her before. He feels lightheaded, intoxicated; she smells like paper and ink and she tastes like coffee and chocolate. She is so soft in his arms, so present and warm and he swears he can feel her heartbeat thudding against her chest, right against his.

When she pulls back she presses her face into his neck, her fingers as light as feathers on his back, and there's not much he can do but stand there in the aftermath and hold her. He feels her lips moving against his neck but he's still so lightheaded he has to blink a few times, running his hands down her sides as he mumbles, "Sorry, what?"

She laughs, the sound quiet and kind, and tilts her face back to look at him. Her cheeks are pinked and her pupils are blown wide. "I said sorry. For- I mean, I know you don't like me like that, and I-"

"Clarke," he interrupts her gently, locking his arms back around her waist. "You honestly think, after a kiss like that, that I don't like you?"

He watches with joy as her lips slowly split into a beautiful smile, radiant and glowing against the white of her skin, and he walks her backwards a few steps until she's pressed against the wall of Honeyduke's. She reaches her fingers through his hair, seeming suddenly nervous, and says, "Prove it, then."

He doesn't need to be told twice. The second kiss is no less great, all shy smiles against each other's lips, and when she slips her hands beneath his jacket and against the thin cotton of his shirt, he wonders if she'd let him kiss her like this forever.

"Yes," she breathes against the corner of his mouth a moment later, her fingers slightly knotted in his shirt. "I would."

He leans back a little to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. "How do you _do_ that?"

She looks a little embarrassed, smiling down at her shoes. "The answering your thoughts thing? My father taught me Legilimency."

She must see the shock on his face because she bites her lip in an effort not to laugh, and if he's being honest, it just makes him want to kiss her again. He cups her face in his hands, smoothing her hair back, and waits for her to go on. "It's not too difficult. I can teach you if you like."

"Clarke Griffin," he says, his voice soft with wonder, "are you saying you've been reading my mind since we got partnered for that bloody project?"

"Well, when you put it like _that_..."

"What am I thinking now?" he asks, sliding his hands down her arms until he can loop his fingers through hers.

She smiles. "Silly boy, I don't need Legilimency for _that,"_ she says, and pulls him back in again.


End file.
